I've been reading some books about writing these last few days. All of them exhort those of us who fancy ourselves writers, whether we are published writers or not, simply to write every day. Books published a while back suggest we use a nice pen and notebooks and keep the hand moving. More recent advice reminds us to back up our work lest it be lost in a computer crash. But the advice is the same. If you are a writer, write. Every day. Even if what you write is terrible. It's practice and a learning experience and a way to hone the craft.

This blog has been my daily writing venue for a while now, and I find it ironic that as I am reading books about writing and especially reading the exhortation to write every day, I'm finding it harder to do now than ever. I have a wealth of raw material due to taking August to travel and move my mother and prepare for a new work situation among other things. But I am not finding the time to sit and write right now and also I feel that the raw material I have is still not cooked enough to even begin to write about it. Life is moving along quickly and my inspiration seems to still be on vacation. I seem to have too much on the plate, including needing to catch up on reading, much reading, reading missed while on vacation or doing other things, reading which is the basis of all writing for me anyway. I read, therefore I write. Or something like that.

And so here I am, writing about writing. I confess, however, that writers who post a lot about the difficulty of finding time or energy or creative juices needed to write bore me. And here I am doing it. I want to see the fruit of my efforts! Just like I want to see the fruits of other writers' efforts!

But, sadly no fruits today. Stay tuned and keep checking - the muse has not abandoned me but she has apparently come down with a stuffy head or something because her voice is seriously muffled right now.